The Hot Marriage – Sex, Drugs and Synth Pop Stars
By The Wife
Thursday Mission District 10:30pm
My girls have just gone home after a really lovely dinner. I made a savory tart with home made crust; we drank rosé, and laughed until we cried. I am cleaning up the detritus of my little party when I get a text from The Husband telling me that I really must come to the party he is at. You see, one of our best friends, D, is a former porn star turned porn director, and this is his company’s soirée. After a little prompting, I put on a festive, naughty party dress, and I’m out the door and on my way to the bar.
My goodness all the boys are there and they are lovely and sexy as can be! Of course, The Husband keeps getting mistaken for the talent (which he loves). One of our favorite contract porn stars J is in town from the Windy City looking as delicious as ever with his shaved head, big doe eyes, and puffy chest and arms – sigh. The mood at the party is so sexed up and fun. Everyone is there to flirt and have a grand time. It is the start of Pride weekend, and electricity fills the air. The fans are there, the boys are there, and at the bar… OMG I cannot believe my eyes I see the lead singer of my favorite synth pop band from the late 80s. Still huge in the early 90s, still pretty formidable today, this band shaped me. As a matter of fact, I loved this band so much that I wanted to name a daughter after one of their songs (until I realized said daughter would have to be either a porn star or a stripper with a name like this). I went to the bar to introduce myself to said rock god and had a nice moment with him. He was lovely and gracious and kind. The end – kind of.
Back to the party, we saw old friends and met some new ones and when the bar closed, we just weren’t ready to call it a night, so I invited a few people back to our place. As we’re leaving I see our friendly pop star on the corner and I say, “Hey, we’re going back to my place. Would you boys like to come too?” With the sweetest smile, and a look of genuine surprise, he looks and me and says, “Can I?” So, some of us pile into cars, and some of us walk the few blocks to our place. The group consists of two of the hottest, most talented drag stars in town V & H, my dear friend W, famous butch queer about town, D my evil twin/porn impresario, two new friends a girl named M and her gay daddy, an adorable drunkard called J, the pop star and his lovely friend L, and, bien sûr, The Husband and I.
Back at the pad, the cocktails are flowing and so are the lines. (In the interest of full disclosure, the pop star is clean & forgoes the powdery goodness). 
Now the social lubrication is working it’s magic, and we are all getting deep, getting loud, and going mad. Suddenly the only other real girl in the place is topless. People are making out in corners. Drag queens are getting out of face in the bathroom and conversation is reaching a fever pitch. This is a grand party.
I walk out on to the patio and topless girl is blowing D while others are smoking cigarettes and giving only the occasional glance. I’d love to watch, but there are cocktails to be filled and guests to be chatted up – most of the people have never been to our place before and hostess duties always come first. A bit later in the night, The Husband grabs me by the hand and pulls me into my dressing room. Topless girl is blowing D again and The Husband and I pop in for a look. “Why don’t you join her?” he asks. Of course, I do. I always love a go with D. After a moment or two, I set topless girl loose on The Husband, but really I can’t leave our guests for too long, so we say goodbye and wish them well.
Back to our guests with a face full of red lipstick and a knowing smile. The Husband suggests I go wash my face, but I’d rather be scandalous, so he kisses me deeply and calls me a dirty, dirty bird. Soon, all of our guests are piling into taxi after taxi. Our darling pop star stayed until the very end although his friend left hours before. He was lovely, he was naughty- but in case you figure his identity, I’ll never tell what we spoke of. I will say this though—his pants were tight and it looked like he was packin’ a Duraflame!
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